


Effervescent

by immistermercury



Series: art student! freddie [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (and a lot more), (for his sexuality), (wink wink), 1964 if you want to be exact, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Friends With Benefits, Humor, It's the 60s, Jim is 16, Just a bit of fun, M/M, Mother Hen Freddie, Recreational Drug Use, and very flamboyant, and very proud, drastic personality shift between sober and stoned freddie, fred is 18, fred is very out, freddie is a fucking stoner, freddie is going to show him the ropes, freddie knows and is here for it, freddie orders ridiculous coffees and they get talking, jim is in denial about his sexuality, jim is really naive, jim moved to london 2 weeks ago, jim using freddie as an experiment, smut (probably at some point), this is honestly just fun, underage but the age gap isn't that bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-06-26 02:37:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19758868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: London, 1964. Jim Hutton, sixteen years old, full of hope and excitement about his future, moves to London without a single plan. The vague patchouli scent in the air is intoxicating, and he finds himself wrapped in a society he'd never expected, an arm around his waist and a cigarette perched between his lips. It starts behind the counter at his day job, waiting for a placement to study hairdressing, when a man, stoned and flamboyant, accidentally stumbles into his life.ORHis mother warned him about that kind of man.





	1. Patchouli

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all know Klaus from the Umbrella Academy? Freddie is basically that loveable stoner

The rain lashed down against the windows; Jim watched it with a sense of gentle melancholy, listening to the faint drips. It was a Thursday, after the morning rush, the quietest time of the week: people found their pick-me-up in the closeness to the weekend and social events awaiting them instead of reaching for a coffee.

He worked three mornings a week, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, and he absolutely loathed it; his shifts were occupied with watching the clock and counting the pennies he made by the second. Moving to London at the age of sixteen, alone, was a dream that Jim had possessed for most of his waking life, forever dreaming of living in a capital, alive with noise and excitement and people. He wanted out of dull, monotonous Ireland, stifled by an overtly religious conscience, to fun and colourful London.

He’d only been there for two weeks, he reasoned, and his coworkers were nice enough. He just really, really wanted some proper friends. 

The bell chimed loudly and he glanced up at the door, immediately met by a blur of tanned skin, dark hair, every exotic fantasy blended up into one package. He was met with a dazzling smile, a playful wink, and a stumble that confirmed Jim’s suspicions that he was stoned out of his fucking mind.

His naivety meant that he’d never really dabbled with more than the occasional cigarette; it hadn’t been easy to get drugs at a Catholic private school, and he’d never cared enough to try. His first reaction was to get someone more experienced to deal with him, to hide in the backroom until he was gone, but he forced himself to stay put.

If he was going to take on London, he had to take on situations like this.

“Good morning, sir, what can I get for you?” He asked, putting on his sweetest smile.

The stranger lowered his sunglasses - sunglasses, Jim clocked, when it was raining outside - and smiled at the sight of a new face. “Freddie Mercury, darling!” He stuck a hand out, which Jim nervously shook. “We’ll get to know each other well. For me, darling, always the same; a cafe Viennois and a raspberry muffin.”

“Cafe-” Jim faltered, unsure of what to write on the order ticket.

“Cafe Viennois! Oh, you’re a new face around here.” He leaned over and pinched Jim’s cheek. “How old are you, darling? Fifteen?”

“I’m eighteen, actually.” Jim lied unconvincingly. “For now, you’ll have to tell me how to make that for you.”

“Sweetheart-” Freddie put on a patronising tone. “I’m eighteen, and you are not. Pull the other one.” He snorted and grabbed the pen from him, writing clear instructions on the ticket.

Jim worried his lower lip between his teeth as he watched him write, glancing over the instructions quickly; they were wordy, and he didn’t want to get it wrong.

It took him a minute to realise it was just a latte with whipped cream on top.

“I’m sixteen.” He lowered his voice. “But as far as anyone knows, I’m eighteen.”

“Your secret is safe with me!” Freddie grinned as he made the espresso. “Now, sweetness, why haven’t I seen you around here before?” He leaned forward on the counter and watched him attentively.

Jim couldn’t decide if this guy was a complete creep or strangely endearing; he couldn’t decide whether to indulge or distance him. “I’ve just moved over from Ireland. Getting a foothold in the world.” He smiled.

“Oh, how sweet! I did the same.” Freddie grabbed a joint from his pocket and lit it as he stood there at the counter. 

“Where are you from?” Jim asked innocently.

“London.” Freddie replied cryptically, seemingly contradicting his earlier statement, enjoying playing mind games with his new friend.

“No, I mean-” Jim started to heat the milk. “Where were you born?”

“Oh, the classic racist question!” Freddie clapped his hands. “I love that one. Can’t possibly be English, me!”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that-” Jim stumbled quickly, scared he’d offended. “I just thought, because you said about moving-”

“I’m fucking with you.” Freddie grinned and blew smoke at the ceiling. “Stone Town, Zanzibar. It’s part of Tanzania, which is east Africa.”

“Oh, you don’t look African.” Jim grabbed the muffin from the counter.

“That’s because I moved to India when I was about five and I channelled the vibe really fucking well. Then we moved for the second time because apparently, wherever we go, people really want to kill my father and me.” Freddie took a contemplative drag. “So I thought I’d come to London and get totally fucking stoned and then see if they like me.”

“How long have you been here?” Jim asked curiously; he was surprisingly interesting, though a little too open and uncomfortably flamboyant.

“Just over two years. Making the most of it before people try to kill me again. Besides-” He lowered his voice. “Have you seen the men around here? They’re to die for, darling, trust me. London can turn you into a proper faggot in no time.” He winked playfully and laughed when Jim blushed. “Oh, you’re so sweet!”

Jim had never met a real gay man before; he seemed to fit the textbook stereotype, loud and flamboyant and a little leery. He could imagine him at home, dressed in silk, a cigarette between his lips, swaying his hips to the radio-

He stopped himself quickly. Maybe he was a little confused himself.

Jim watched, entrapped for a moment, as Freddie took another drag; he held the joint between his middle and ring fingers, surprisingly elegant. “What do you do for a living?” He asked curiously as he added the cream on top.

Freddie watched with hungry delight. “I’m going to be a graphic artist or maybe a singer. For now, I’m a life model. I’m saving for a pair of Levis but all the money seems to go down the drain whenever I go near my dealer.” He smirked, joint balancing precariously between his lips as he took his coffee and the muffin. “Darling, I would leave you a tip for the wonderful customer service but I’m afraid I had to beg the change for this off my flatmate. When I get rich and famous I’ll buy you something lavish instead.”

It was the strangest compliment Jim had ever been paid. “A singer?” He asked curiously, hyper-aware that he was keeping Freddie too long. 

“Oh, I’m going to be in a band. They’re called Smile.” Freddie grimaced a little. “It’s a shit name. I’m going to change it to Queen.”

“Have you auditioned?” Jim pretended to be wiping the counter to seem busy.

“Oh, well, not yet.” Freddie conceded. “They’ve got a singer at the moment, so I’m biding my time.”

“Are they friends of yours?” Jim was intrigued by Freddie’s complete conviction.

“I shagged the drummer once at a house party. That was a good time, I live with him now and it haunts the both of us.” He grinned. “I haven’t told them I’m joining, but I am.”

“Oh-” Jim laughed a little, confused. “Well, I hope it goes well.”

“Oh, sweetness, good luck with the coffee! I’ll be back!” He smiled and waved as he left the shop.  
  


* * *

“It’s a rite of passage.” John murmured as Jim took off his apron. “We take turns serving Freddie. He’s completely fucking mental.” His smile was tired, but a little fond. “Quite fun, sometimes.”

“He seemed nice enough.” Jim shrugged and grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on. “He likes to play games, doesn’t he?”

“Did he corner you into saying something racist? I think he’s got a chip on his shoulder that he’s not white.” John smirked and offered him a cigarette. “We had to bar him a few months ago.”

“What?” Jim laughed and took one gratefully, lighting it quickly. “How the hell did he manage that?”

“He snorted coke in the toilets. He goes on these ultra four-day benders and then comes here when he starts to crash because he knows his flatmate will yell at him for being out for so long without calling.” John chuckled. “He’s sweet when you get him sober. We’ve got a bit of his art on the walls. He studies at Ealing.”

“It’s pretty good there, right?” Jim asked curiously. 

“Pretty good.” John nodded. “He’s got a good flair. I think he prefers the modelling to the art, though. He likes to be the centre of attention.”

“I noticed.” Jim snorted and took a drag of his cigarette, surreptitiously trying the same grip as Freddie. “He’d be a good singer.”

“He’s got one hell of a voice.” John nodded. “There’s a piano in Kensington market that he plays if you get lucky. You should drop by sometimes, he seems to have taken a shine to you.”

“Maybe I will.” Jim shrugged. “He might make a move, though.”

“Freddie’s gay, Jim, he’s not a dickhead. He’s not going to make a move on you just because you’re a single man. He knows you’re not gay and you’re not interested. There’s plenty of men that are.” John chuckled. “He’s got a new guy every week. Sometimes more than one. Sometimes more than one in one night.” He dropped his voice and smirked. “Sometimes more than one at once.”

“No!” Jim gasped.

“It’s true! He brags about it all the time, and I have to ask him to keep it down when we’ve got kids in the shop.” He chuckled. “He spent his teenage years being closeted and having secret sex, and now he’s discovered sixties England and he can be out and proud. It’s nice, in a way.”

Jim considered it. He wanted to know more, now. Maybe this was the man that could introduce him to England at its finest. “I think you’re right. People can be themselves here.”

“Exactly!” John smiled. “If you want to fuck a bloke, then fuck a bloke, you know? Who cares?” He laughed.


	2. Cinnamon Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second (or maybe first) meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally so much fun to write!

The unfair thing about Freddie was the fact that he always looked incredible, no matter what he wore, no matter the time of day, no matter the occasion. He could wear a floral jacket with a sequined t-shirt and platforms and Jim would always be struck by his apparent readiness to be photographed as if he’d already come to terms with the idea of fame. The sunglasses, he’d discovered, were a staple part of the look; he used them to hide red eyes, sleeplessness, or merely as a sign that he wasn’t in the mood for talking.

Today, he was wearing the classic jacket, the one that looked like it had been made from a pair of old curtains, a black satin shirt, white flared jeans and platforms; Jim surveyed the outfit with a hint of jealousy that he managed to pull it off so well. “Cafe Viennois and a raspberry muffin, sir?” He asked sweetly as he approached the counter.

“Oh, nice to know I first met you off my tits. It’s always a good impression.” Freddie chuckled. “You can disregard most of the shit I say when I’m like that. I’ll take an Americano and a cinnamon roll.” He smiled and leaned over the counter, reading his nametag. “Thanks, Jim.”

Jim had never seen such a drastic personality shift in the space of a night. “Of course, sir.” He said shyly; Freddie seemed so much older like this. 

“No need to call me that.” Freddie gave him a friendly smile. “I’m sure I must have introduced myself to you. Freddie Mercury, eighteen, I work at Kensington Market and study at Ealing.” He paused for a moment. “Did I tell you that?”

Jim smiled when he smiled, relaxing a little. “Not all of it. Name and age. And sexuality and place of birth and life ambitions.”

Freddie laughed and his cheeks pinkened a little. “Clearly in a good mood.” He said bashfully. “I won’t pretend to be sorry, because I’m not, but it’s definitely a weird introduction.” He stuck his hand out again. “Freddie Mercury, pleasure to meet you. Let’s start again.”

Jim took his hand a little more confidently this time. “All mine.” He smiled shyly. “Jim Hutton.”

Freddie found his shyness strangely endearing. “Are you new to London, darling?” He asked carefully, not wanting to freak him out with all the questions.

“Yeah. I moved here two weeks ago. I’m waiting for a placement to study hairdressing.” Jim smiled as he handed over the coffee and the roll. “Here you go, sir.”

Freddie swatted the back of his hand playfully. “What did I say about calling me that?” He chuckled. “You should drop by the market some time. I think we could be good friends.” He smiled and took his order. “I promise I’m sober at least some of the time at work.”

Jim nodded. “I’m sure I will.” He smiled. 

* * *

“May!” Freddie shouted as he walked into his shared apartment with Roger. Brian was over at least eighty percent of the time - he didn’t like to buy his own beer, because he was a fucking scrounger as far as Freddie was concerned - and so he felt it was a safe bet to call for him. “May, come out, you fucking coward!”

“What the hell, Freddie?” Roger stepped out of the lounge. 

“Where’s Brian?” He asked, putting his empty coffee cup on the counter. “He stole my fucking velvet jacket and I know it was him because he’s stretched the sleeves to about twice their original fucking length.”

“I didn’t!” Brian shouted from the lounge and Freddie stormed into the room, victorious. He grabbed the bag that his roll had been in and screwed it up, throwing it at Brian’s head.

“I hope you get cinnamon in your hair for weeks.” Freddie huffed. “I liked that jacket.”

“Freddie, you’re being dramatic. Just put it in the laundry and it’ll be fine.” Brian rolled his eyes and went back to his textbook. 

“With what money?” Freddie pouted and crossed his arms. “I can barely pay the fucking rent on this place, not that you’d know.” He scowled.

“You know, Fred, if you were maybe sober for one day a week-” Brian started.

“Oh, you can stop that rant before you start it.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “Some of us work, darling, and we don’t just rely on our grants and the fucking dole for money. I flog shitty jackets to pompous assholes and stand naked in front of middle-aged artists to get that money, and if I want to spend it on blow then I fucking will.”

“Freddie, this is the cutest shit ever.” Roger walked into the lounge, coffee cup in hand. “Is this why you keep scrounging money for coffee? Because you’ve got an eye on the barista?” He showed Freddie the heart drawn on the side of his cup and Freddie honest-to-God nearly blushed, disbelieving that he’d managed to miss it.

“I mean- I didn’t-” Freddie stuttered quickly. “I scrounge money because I need coffee, Rog. I only met him today. Well, yesterday, technically, but I can’t remember it.” He shrugged. “He’s sixteen-”

“Oh, cradle snatcher.” Brian said with muted disgust.

“Shut the fuck up, May.” Freddie snapped. “You’re just jealous because I’ve fucked Roger and you haven’t.”

“Freddie!” Roger swatted his arm. “Christ, you’re grouchy today.”

Freddie huffed and rested his chin on his hands. “I failed my assignment.” He admitted. “My prof hated it and now I have to do the whole thing all over again.”

“What was the project?” Brian asked, suddenly softening his tone. He’d been known to be equally grouchy when he didn’t get something right the first time.

“Botanicals.” Freddie twisted the empty coffee cup in his hands. “So I did some bullshit thing about the new fad of botanical cocktails and he told me it had nothing to do with the theme. So now I’m back at square one and I have to do two projects at once, and I can’t fucking concentrate here because you’re practising for Smile all the time.” Freddie didn’t even try to hide his disappointment that he wasn’t involved.

“Why don’t you go to the cafe and see if you can work there?” Roger winked at Brian from behind Freddie. “Maybe lover-boy can help you concentrate.”

“Oh, gross.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “It’s not my fault if some kid has a crush on me. Besides, I’m about ninety-five percent sure he’s just being friendly. He’s not gay.”

“How do you know?” Roger asked with a smirk.

“Because I’m gay, Roger, and I can smell another queer from a mile away.” Freddie said dryly. 

“I can’t do that.” Roger reasoned and sat beside him, and Freddie couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s because you’re bi. Your sensor only works for half a mile because you have more choice.” He started to laugh.

Roger shoved him with his shoulder and laughed. “Go get your pencils and go down to the cafe and stop being a mourngey little bitch. I’ll even give you the money for another coffee.” He paused for a minute. “Well, Brian will.”

“If you spend it on blow-” Brian warned.

“I can tell you’ve never been to a dealer.” Freddie griped, but he was laughing. “I’m not going to get anything for three pound fifty, Bri, chill out. I only spend my money on that shit.”

Brian nodded and handed him a fiver. “So you can put that fucking jacket in the laundry.” He said begrudgingly.

Freddie leaned over delightedly and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Love you!” He smiled and waltzed up to his room to grab his books.

* * *

“Oh, you’re back!” Jim smiled as Freddie walked in, this time armed with pencils and a big sketchbook under one arm. “Same as before?”

Freddie glanced around at a couple of people holding cups; they all had hearts drawn on the side. Part of him was relieved, and part of him was disappointed. “Please.” He smiled at the man in front of him. “Can’t concentrate at home today.”

“Oh, why not?” Jim asked, putting the coffee on and grabbing the last roll from the cabinet. “Did something happen?”

“They’re having band practice. I don’t like to draw when it’s too loud.” He shrugged. “And I need to make some leeway into this.”

Jim nodded sympathetically. “Of course.” He paused for a moment. “Are you having your coffee in with us today, sir?”

Freddie found it strange how easily he switched between corporate phrase and friendly conversation. “Please.” He smiled. “I’ll take one of those corner booths. Might be there for a few hours.”

Jim glanced at the clock; he hoped he’d be there for the last three hours of his shift. “I’ll put it in a mug, then. Save the planet and all that.” He chuckled and handed his order over. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Freddie smiled and handed the money over. He watched the boy’s face as he counted the money intently, and a sudden idea struck him, a surrealism portrait he could use for his project.

It formed easily under his hand; too much of his art was created in a hallucinogenic haze, and so it always felt different, more precise, to craft with a clear head. Onto the paper came a sharp jawline, plump lips, the sharp cut of his throat down to the simple shirt he was wearing. Freddie smiled and leaned forward, tongue poking out in concentration, as he sketched a little button nose. Instead of the eyes, the hair, he drew flowers, as many as he could think of, from the simple daisy on his nametag right through to the most complex of orchids. 

It looked a little sad without colour, but it seemed to come alive under his fingers; he knelt precariously in the little seat as he took the excuse to look over the proportions of the whole image. “Hey, Jim?” He asked as he walked back over to the counter. “Can you watch my stuff for a minute? And can I get a glass of tap water?”

“Yeah, no problem.” He smiled. He’d been watching Freddie draw in between serving customers, dark hair falling in his face, the little frowns he made when he smudged something with his wrist. “Anything else?”

“A napkin.” Freddie smiled. “I’ll be five minutes.”

Jim always smiled when Freddie smiled; his happiness was contagious. He was so calm, so focused, so intense in a different way when he was sober. Jim couldn’t ever seem to take his eyes off him when he had a spare moment.

He came back with a large case in his hand and placed it down on the seat next to him, taking a few things out before noticing a little note in front of him. The handwriting was scrawling, nothing like his own elegant, sloping copperplate, and it sat just to the side of a red velvet cupcake.

_ This looks so good! I’d love to see it when it’s finished. _

And maybe Freddie should’ve been embarrassed that he was caught out drawing the boy behind the counter, but when he glanced over and got a smile and a shrug in response, he was glad that he’d seen.


	3. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two visits on two separate days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any interest on the source material for this fic, I've been reading E M Forster's Maurice (highly recommend if you want an account of male homosexuality at the end of 19th century!) and the section about Jim's experience is based off one of my favourite passages in that book :)
> 
> Also - anyone know the song?

_You don’t have to sing it nice, but honey, sing it strong-_

_At best you’ll find a little remedy, at worst the world will sing along._

The chandeliers hung low overhead as Jim walked into the huge expanse of the market; his heart pounded in his throat and he felt a little ridiculous as he looked around blindly. He was taken aback by the beauty of the grandeur of the old London building, carved walls half-hidden behind stalls of incense, of candles, of old Victorian jackets and Turkish delight every colour under the sun. 

He’d never experienced such an assault on his senses; he was taken aback by the thick scent of patchouli that hung in the air, the darkness of the room cut through by weak chandeliers and lamps illuminating the best of what a stall could offer, the softness of velvet and silk under his touch as his feet moved silently on cold tiles. He picked up a velvet waistcoat just to feel it, the heaviness under his fingers, the juxtaposition of heavy and soft, and he smiled to himself.

“Like what you see, darling?” Roger grinned from where he sat at the front counter, feet propped up on the table, cigarette between his fingers. “I doubt that one would fit you, but I’m sure I’ve got another in the back.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean-” Jim dropped it shyly; Roger’s smile was a serpent’s, and Jim didn’t yet trust the men he met in London. “I was just curious.”

“Curiosity is a virtue.” Roger took a drag on his cigarette. He recognised the kid immediately; Freddie had pointed him out through the window of the old coffee shop, cheeks pink and lips the colour of cherry wine as he smiled so sweetly. “I’m sure my friend can help you.” He started, and before Jim could protest, he called, “Hey, looney tunes!”

“It’s not exactly a professional nickname, is it?” Freddie rolled his eyes as he came out of the backroom. “What is it? I’m eating lunch.”

“Your kid’s here. What do you think of velvet?” He asked dryly.

Freddie smiled widely and grabbed his jacket before he came out properly. “Jim, darling!” He walked forwards. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

“Well, you said to drop by.” He said nervously and Freddie looped his arm through his and tugged him along. 

“And the pleasure is all mine, sweetheart. No one ever drops by for me, it’s always for ghastly drummer-boy.” He rolled his eyes and smiled.

He managed to duck just in time for the shoe to fly over his head. “You can pick that up, Taylor!” He shouted over his shoulder.

“You’ve got ten minutes left!” Roger yelled after them and Freddie grinned over at Jim.

“I’ll be late, darling!” His voice was so sing-song, positively effeminate.

“That’s not-” Roger started and Jim began laughing with how ridiculous they were.

“Time is a social construct!” Freddie turned back and bowed in his direction; Jim’s stomach hurt from how hard he was laughing. “I’ll make it up to you when I’m famous, darling!”

“Are you high?” Jim laughed, instinctively moving a little closer when Freddie wrapped an arm around his waist.

“Me, darling? No, never!” He said theatrically. “A preposterous suggestion!”

“That’s a yes!” Roger shouted after them and Jim started laughing again.

“Maybe I had a spliff during my lunch break.” Freddie rested a finger over his own lips and winked. “The world must never know.”

“A spliff?” Jim asked, feeling so naive next to the ever-so-experienced Freddie. 

“It’s the respectable form of a joint at work.” Seeing he was still perplexed, Freddie continued. “Think half cigarette, half joint. A cigarette with weed in. Marijuana, if you must.” He started to laugh. “I haven’t even been on the blow!”

Jim had wondered why all his thoughts for the past few evenings had been Freddie, why he’d been counting the days for what was a socially acceptable length of time to go before calling on someone, why he’d drawn up a list of questions in his mind that he wanted to know. He was so open and so elusive at the same time, both personalities revealing a different side to him: bubbly, playful, puppy Freddie, friends with anyone and everyone, spreading all the love and joy in the world, clothes heavy with perfume to block out the scent of anything untoward; dark, intense, quiet Freddie, shy and creative and talented, a mind to make anything come to life through the medium of paint and pencil and black coffee, focused and driven and yet quiet about his ambitions. He was the kind of man that you could talk to for hours, the kind of movie character that would sit atop a rooftop until dark and name the stars and talk about politics; he was the kind of character that would be chased down alleyways by the police, all whilst whooping with laughter. 

Jim had experienced this kind of infatuation at boarding school: an intense focus would build for one of the other boys, younger or older. He’d be unable to focus, to breathe, to function in the same space as them; he’d go to shy laughter, loud enough to draw their attention but never old enough to make a scene. They’d notice after a while, and they’d brush him off to mourn for a little while before the cycle would begin again. Other boys would be infatuated with him, and he’d brush them off all the same - it was the done thing. It was mutual on only one occasion, and that had ended before it could ever begin. 

He was infatuated with Freddie, he recognised. He was infatuated with some happy-go-lucky stoner with a diamond smile and slightly crooked teeth. He didn’t want to brush him off yet, so he’d bide his time until it would be easy to let him down gently; besides, he wasn’t gay, and so Freddie would probably barely notice him in that way anyway.

“Why do you want to be a singer?” Jim asked, completely out of the blue. “You’re an incredible artist. Why not do that?”

“You don’t get famous painting until you’re dead, darling.” Freddie smiled. “I want the crowds. I want people to pay hundreds of pounds to watch me make love to a microphone for two hours and I want my pick of any man in the audience.”

Jim laughed at his choice of phrasing. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to be so open about your sexuality?” He asked curiously. “You don’t seem to worry about telling people.”

Freddie smirked and paused to take a drag on his spliff. “There’s talk of it being decriminalised, though I don’t know how much it would help. The age would still be twenty-one.” He shrugged. “I don’t think it helps to stigmatise it by not talking about it openly. The more you pretend that gay men don’t exist, the more we’re forced to not exist, you know?”

“How did you know?” Jim was a little shyer this time. “That you were gay, I mean.”

He was wary of the topic as though speaking about it alone would make him gay. He couldn’t be gay, because he was a Catholic and homosexuality and Catholicism hardly went hand in hand; his church, his family, society as a whole would turn its back on him. Besides, to be gay he had to be attracted to men, and he’d never experienced attraction, not like it was in the books. 

“When I was thirteen I met a boy that was sixteen.” Freddie took another drag and smiled. “Seems like a weird age gap, but it wasn’t really in India. Girls can be married off from about twelve.” He shrugged. “It’s normal to have someone older teach you the ropes. Although, it’s usually an older guy teaching a younger girl.” He started to laugh. “We went for a long walk around the grounds of our school, and by the time I’d gotten back I’d had my first kiss and lost my virginity.”

Jim frowned, a little unsure. “Did you-” He started quietly. “Did you want to? He didn’t…”

“No!” Freddie laughed. “No, darling, I wanted it. I’d been trying to get him to go with me for weeks. It was glorious, evening sunshine by the waterside and he was so careful.”

“But how did you know that you wanted it?” He perked up again at Freddie’s smile.

“I guess girls were never my thing. I never wanted soft. I didn’t want soft hands and soft hair and soft smiles and soft bodies. When I went to boarding school I was always fixated on one boy or another but they all brushed me off until I met him. The feeling was mutual, and then I discovered a whole new world.” He grinned and threw the remnants of the spliff on the floor. “Sometimes you have to experiment to find what you like.”  


* * *

“It’s beautiful.” Jim said quietly. He stood at the counter with Roger, listening to Freddie on the piano around the corner, listening to the mellifluous swirl as it reached the unknown listeners. “That’s really him?”

“Don’t buff up his ego any further.” Roger joked but smiled. “It’s strange, he kind of loses his accent when he sings. He talks a little funny with those teeth, but it seems to help him sing.”

The words slipped from Jim’s mouth before he even thought about them. “Have you ever thought about having him in the band?”

Part of him wanted to give Freddie his dream just to make him smile, to make him notice him. 

Roger paused for a moment. “You know, I hadn’t until you said it.” He smiled. “We’ve mainly got Tim because he’s Brian’s last squeeze. After they broke up it’s gotten kind of awkward, and he’ll probably leave soon. We’ve been together since before we met Fred.”

“Maybe you should practice with Fred some time.” He gave Roger his sweetest smile; that smile was becoming a superpower, the easiest way of coaxing people into doing what he suggested.

“Maybe we will.” Roger smiled. “I’ve never heard him sing proper rock’n’roll, though. He likes these sweeter acoustic songs. He writes a lot of them.”

“You should give him a chance.” Jim nodded. “He’d love it.”

And as Jim fell asleep that night, it was on a dangerous fantasy-

_“I’m so glad they gave you a chance.” He was beautiful, all smiles and pink cheeks and innocent little glances._

_“You gave me the chance, darling! You convinced them with that beautiful little smile of yours.” Freddie leaned forward and pinched his cheek, just like that first day, but this time his gaze was intense and heavy._

_“Beautiful?” Jim stuttered, cheeks heating as Freddie cupped his cheek properly._

_“Beautiful-” Freddie started-_

And he woke up.


	4. Fluorescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie wants to celebrate, and he'll get whatever he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I called this Fluorescent because it honestly feels like what could've happened in Fluorescent if Freddie's self-esteem was higher!

“Good morning, gorgeous!” Freddie greeted him as he walked into the shop. “Before you ask, no, I haven’t been smoking. This morning I’m just high on life!”

Jim laughed and leaned on the counter. Freddie had a definite spring in his step that morning; bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, filled with the joys of summer. “Good morning, Freddie.” He chuckled. “What’s gotten you so happy?”

“Well, the old singer from Smile has finally kicked it. Decided he’s got better things to do with his time.” He took out a cigarette and lit it, offering one to Jim. “I promise they’re normal, darling.”

Jim took one and lit it from the end of Freddie’s. “So now you’re the singer?”

“Exactly!” He smiled delightedly. “So, darling, we’re going out to celebrate tonight. I was wondering if you wanted to come with us.” He shrugged. “I don’t offer it out of pity, and you won’t break my heart if you don’t come. You do whatever you’d like to.” He smirked. “Though I must warn you, we will be trawling the gay venues. They have better music, so long as you’re not focused on picking up any girls along the way.”

Jim was taken aback by the proposition; he wasn’t even old enough to drink. “I don’t have any ID.” He sighed. “Otherwise I would.” The idea filled his stomach with butterflies, but he wanted to see more of London, and he felt strangely safe with Freddie by his side. 

“Oh, darling!” Freddie chuckled. “Places don’t ID in London. No one cares how old you are so long as you don’t pass out or get assaulted.” He leaned in. “And I promise I won’t let you be hurt, sweetheart.”

Jim swallowed and nodded. “Sure, I’ll come along.” He said softly. “But- but you know I’m not gay, right?”

“Obviously.” Freddie chuckled. “You just have to be firm with anyone that hits on you. Don’t be shy about it, just tell them to fuck off.” He glanced back at the line behind him and smirked. “I’ll have an Americano and a cinnamon roll, please, darling.”

Jim gladly took the call to make the coffee, letting himself be replaced on the front counter taking orders. He didn’t often take busy shifts, and he needed his coworkers to take pity on him by letting him work at the back; all their strange patrons had taken a shine to him, and so his efficiency was truly terrible.

“Hey, so-” Freddie tried to look over the top of the coffee grinders, standing on his toes. “Are you definitely coming?”

Jim chuckled and looked over at him. “Yes, Freddie.” 

“I’ll meet you outside the Covent Garden tube station. We’re starting at Heaven.”

“Heaven?” Jim questioned.

“It’s the club to end all clubs.” He chuckled. “You’ll love it, darling, I’m sure.” He took his coffee when Jim walked over and dropped a friendly kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, sweetness! I’ll see you at eight.” He winked.

“I take back what I said about him not hitting on you.” John muttered as he walked past. “It’s subtle by Mercury standards, but it’s definitely there.”

“We’re just friends.” Jim said quickly.

“Sure, Jim.” John smirked. “We’ll see if that changes by the end of the night.”

* * *

Freddie Mercury was under no illusions that he looked good; he oozed that easy confidence that Jim longed for. He was dressed in tight leather, hugging each curve and contour of those long legs, foot flat against the wall just emphasising his ass. The tank top showed off the light definition of the muscles in his arms, the perfect balance between too strong and too weak.

Jim hated just how much he appreciated the sight of him all dressed up. He was standing beside Roger, smoking something - Jim could never be sure until he told him properly - and chatting lazily; Jim could see his eyes skimming over the crowd, playing hunter and prey. Whoever he wanted, he would get.

He walked over to them, resisting the urge to run away; Freddie wasn’t too intimidating, and he’d promised to go. “Jim!” Freddie said happily, pushing off the wall and walking over to him, hugging him tight. “Oh, darling, I was starting to think you weren’t coming!”

“I had to work late.” He said apologetically, hugging back; he reminded himself to keep his hands within purely friendly perimeters. “And the tube was late.”

“As always.” Freddie smiled warmly. “I’m glad you came.”

“Can we go in now?” Roger rolled his eyes. “I’m glad you two lovebirds are happy, but Bri’s been in there for like half an hour already and I’m missing out on all the fun.”

“Let’s go.” Freddie smiled; Jim’s heart leapt into his throat when he realised that they were going down the line, checking IDs along the way. He felt disheartened immediately - he didn’t want to be denied entry to start the evening.

Freddie grinned at him and held onto his hand tightly as he swanned straight up to the main doors, ignoring the queue. He winked at the bouncer, a look that promised so much and so little, and Jim held his breath as they were ushered in immediately.

“You can get almost anything you want from a decent blowjob, dear.” Freddie whispered in his ear as they walked into the club. “Okay, ground rules.” He clapped his hands theatrically. “If someone hits on you, tell them to fuck off. Only buy drinks in bottles, and carry it with you, preferably with your thumb over the hole. Don’t try and use the accessible toilets after about ten, and don’t be surprised if you come across something lewd when you’re using the regular bathrooms.” He squeezed his hand. “Also, don’t get blackout drunk.”

Jim nodded nervously; his mind could supply the reasoning behind some of the rules, but not all. “Why drinks in bottles?” He questioned.

“Because some people will try and slip you GHB if they think you won’t notice. If your drink feels oily or tastes soapy or salty, spit it out and come and find me.” Freddie smiled wryly. “I’ve been on the wrong end of that one, and it never ends nicely. I was one of the lucky ones.”

“What is it?” He asked shyly.

‘It’s a sedative. A date rape drug.” He shook his head. “It’s only happened once or twice here, it’s not an endemic like it is in other clubs, but it’s always best to be safe. It’ll knock you out and you won’t know where you wake up.”

“Shit.” He replied. “Okay, so don’t leave it unattended, basically.”

“Exactly!” Freddie smiled. “Now, enough of the doom and gloom. Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?”

Jim smiled. “That would be lovely.” He said sweetly. “You choose.”

“Such a responsibility!” He joked. “Do you drink spirits, darling?”

“Who knows?” Jim chuckled. “I’m naive.”

“Oh, darling, you know I forget these things.” He laughed and took him up to the bar. “I always go double and mixer, but maybe it would be better if you went for a single.” He mused and looked over the bar, quickly ordering their drinks.

Freddie’s energy was a magnet to the men around them; it didn’t take long before he was off to dance with a sly wink in Jim’s direction and someone else’s hand on the curve of his ass. He was shimmering starlight in the darkness, illuminating and exciting and confident and gorgeous, and maybe it was the alcohol or the lessening of his nerves or the creeping realisation that Freddie was, in fact, incredibly attractive; something was going to get him caught staring. 

“Got an eye on Mercury?” A guy leaned against the bar beside him and watched where Freddie was lewdly rolling his hips. “He likes his men bold as brass. You’ll never get a chance if you stand at the side here.”

Jim spluttered a little. “I’m not gay.” He blurted out, wincing at how weak it sounded. “I mean- he’s my friend, I’m just keeping an eye on him.”

“Sure you’re not.” He grinned over at him. “Let me tell you, he’s the best shag you’ll ever have. There’s not a straight guy this side of Streatham that wouldn’t fuck him if he got half a chance.” He shrugged and sipped his drink. “I could comment on how many guys he’s been with, but he’s sensible with it and it almost feels unfair to hog him. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

Jim wanted to be horrified but he knew, realistically, that Freddie would probably be delighted with that revelation; he took his sexual prowess, desirability and the sheer number of men that he’d been with as a mark of his pride. He almost couldn’t resist asking more questions. “What makes him so good?”

The guy raised an eyebrow playfully. “He has a wicked little tongue. I’m sure you’ve heard it in action.” He chuckled. “The thing that gets most guys is the noises he makes. He’s so fucking demanding, but when you get it right, you get it really right. It impacts every guy you fuck for the rest of your life.”

“Jesus.” Jim muttered, knocking back the rest of his drink quickly, taking the promise of liquid confidence to heart. 

“It’s Peter, actually.” He joked. “Freddie calls me Phoebe. You’ll get a woman’s name before long if you keep hanging around him.”

“Why does he-” Jim started, but he looked around quickly when heard a commotion on the other side of the club. Freddie was up against the wall, bleeding from his nose, but he had the biggest, most unnerving smile Jim had ever seen.

“Oh, are you a big man now?” He teased, running a finger down the chest of the man who’d just assaulted him. “Shall I make you a badge? Congratulations, you’re now an abuser!” He said theatrically, eyes bright. “Do you think you’re the only man that’s ever tried to control me by hitting me? Do you think you’ve found some innovative technique?”

“Shut the fuck up.” He gritted and gripped Freddie by the throat. “I told you, none of this whoring. You’re mine now.”

“I’m not.” Freddie smiled that smile again, eyes turning manic. “Go on, hit me again, big boy. Show me how much you want me.”

The fist collided with Freddie’s face painfully hard; the man played straight into Freddie’s hands. He wriggled away, lightning-fast, and smeared some of the blood over his cheek for effect; he pouted his lower lip out, seductive and yet vulnerable, and went straight for one of the bouncers. “Sir, I’ve just been assaulted!”

The bouncer looked around quickly. “By who?” He asked, a protective hand going to Freddie’s waist.

“Paul Prenter.” Freddie said, voice deceptively soft. “He’s in the leather jacket. He hit me twice and I wasn’t even doing anything wrong!” He caught Jim’s eye and shot him a wink. “I’m scared he’ll hurt me badly.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, princess.” The bouncer assured him before going to locate the culprit. He grabbed Paul by the neck of his jacket and threw him out on the street; in return, Freddie wrapped his arms around the bouncer and dropped a sweet kiss on his lips.

“My saviour!” He crowed dramatically, breaking back into his smile before walking over to Jim. “And that, darling, is how you get bad men barred from clubs like this.” He announced, grabbing a napkin off the bar and mopping his face.

“Are you alright?” Jim asked quietly, a little overwhelmed by the sight of Freddie’s blood.

“It was barely a cut to the lip, darling, I’m fine.” He assured him. “I made it look worse than it was. Now-” He threw the serviette down and took Jim’s arm. “Come and dance with me, for Christ’s sake!”

The way Freddie moved was electric; at some point, Jim had managed to get both his arms around Freddie’s neck as he moved and swayed to the beat. Their foreheads practically touched, and Freddie smiled that sinful smile again. “What would you do if I kissed you?”

Jim’s head was swimming with vodka and excitement and the realisation that it was okay to behave like this here. “I don’t know.” He glanced down at Freddie’s lips. “It depends on how it felt.”

Freddie pressed his lips to Jim’s, feeling how soft they were against his own; he cupped his cheek before pulling away and grinning. “Any closer to an answer?”

“Probably kiss you back.” Jim replied, a bashful smile coming across his face. He glanced around nervously, but Freddie used his hand to guide him back.

“Just keep your eyes on me.” He purred, seductively innocent. “Kiss me.” 

Jim hesitated for a moment; it felt so wrong to kiss a man, even more so a man to whom it wouldn’t mean anything in the morning. He went to glance around again, but Freddie caught him this time and grinned. “Don’t you dare look back, darling.”

He summoned his courage and leaned in again, kissing him softly. Freddie took that as permission to kiss him properly, warm lips moving ever-so-slightly, trapping him with their intoxicating sweetness. 

“See, darling?” He smiled as they pulled away. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”


	5. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't mind being an experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We love friends with benefits!

Jim loved discovering all these new sides to Freddie; he couldn’t decide which side he liked the most. There was the loud, flamboyant, confident and exuberant Freddie when he was high, always seeking to put a smile on Jim’s face and surprising him with the most ridiculous of little gifts; there was the quiet, intense, focused, sober Freddie, talented and yet shy in his talent; and now, there was a new side, his favourite side yet.

Drunk Freddie, laying on the bed next to him, half asleep and curled up to his side, giggling softly to himself. He seemed to find the whole world funny, and he felt so soft and so sweet tucked up against him; Jim couldn’t help but reach out to touch Freddie’s hair. The vodka had made Jim sleepy, and it had made Freddie impossibly happy; he started giggling again as soon as Jim touched his hair.

“He called me baby.” Freddie looked over at him and smiled that big, lop-sided smile that Jim had only seen a few times. “Baby.” He repeated again and sighed with content. “I like that.”

“Baby.” Jim echoed him and found his own giggles. “You are a baby. You’re a big baby. You can’t walk.”

Freddie leaned over, eyes wide as though imparting an important secret. “It’s the vodka.” He whispered and then started laughing again. “Gallons and gallons!”

Jim laughed and glanced over as Freddie lit a spliff, winking at him. “I want to try!” Jim reached over and Freddie scrambled to sit up, holding it just out of reach.

“No way!” Freddie grinned. “Costs money!”

Jim wasn’t sure where his confidence was coming from, but he grinned before pouncing on Freddie to try and grab it. Freddie squealed and tried to roll out from beneath him, but Jim had him trapped; he bit his lip and then leaned up to kiss Jim again.

The kiss took Jim by surprise, but he melted into it. Freddie was the first and only person that he’d ever kissed, but the feeling of the softness of his lips was wonderfully intoxicating in itself. He was still a little hesitant, but he started to move his lips a little in time with Freddie’s rhythm. Freddie smiled and parted his lips ever-so-slightly, encouraging him to loosen up a little-

Freddie squealed when Jim took his weight off his elbows to cup his cheek and lay down directly on his chest. “You can’t do that!” He laughed and pushed him off, but cupped his cheek and kissed him softly again. “You can’t crush me.”

“What if I want to?” Jim asked with a cheeky smile and lay down next to him again. “I like being close to you. You’re pretty.”

Freddie’s smile was demure. “Oh, you’re so-” He looked over when he smelled burning. “Fuck! I burned a fucking hole in the sheets.” He glanced at Jim and started laughing when he saw that Jim was trying not to laugh. “You can share. I was just trying to get you to kiss me.” He winked at Jim and passed the spliff over. “It’s a light one. It’s more cigarette than it is weed.”

Jim took it from him and took a slow drag. “It’s smooth.” He commented and handed it back to Freddie. 

“I make it with Marlboros. No shit stuff for me.” Freddie boasted unashamedly. “Have you ever shotgunned?”

Jim shook his head and grinned. “Teach me.”

“I’ll take a drag and pass it to you. Just relax.” Freddie winked and took a long drag. He gently touched his lips to Jim’s and rested his thumb on Jim’s chin, parting his lips to pass the smoke through. 

Jim found that after a few hits, he started to feel more relaxed, more eager to smoke more, and he suddenly understood how Freddie was so confident and so vivacious when he was high. “I like it.” He told Freddie earnestly. 

“Stay the night.” Freddie suddenly sat up next to him. “I want to look after you. Stay the night.”

“Now I’m the baby.” Jim beamed and Freddie frowned. 

“That’s my name!” He insisted and pouted childishly. “Find your own.”

* * *

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Jim sat up quickly; his bare legs slid amongst silk sheets. “Oh, what the fuck?” He murmured, not recognising his surroundings; he couldn’t remember much past the third club they’d been to. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Freddie sang as he walked into the room, wearing just a sweater and a pair of boxers. “How’s your head?”

“Freddie, I’ll fucking piss myself if you don’t tell me where the bathroom is.” Jim said quickly.

“Turn left out the door and it’s at the end of the hallway. Don’t go in Roger’s room, he’ll kick your ass, it’s too early for him!” He raised his voice as Jim made his way down the hallway and went to his nightstand, grabbing his water bottle and heading out into the kitchen. 

Jim freshened up a little in the bathroom and caught sight of the clothes he was wearing, fresh boxers and the most ridiculous pink t-shirt with ‘princess’ written across the chest. He followed the sound of Freddie’s singing and found him making tea in the kitchen; he hovered nervously by the door. “I definitely didn’t wear this out last night.” He commented after a while.

“It was a fucking struggle to get it on you, darling.” Freddie smiled and sat on the kitchen counter, sliding a mug to him. “You were not wanting to be cooperative.”

“What happened last night?” He asked nervously. “Did we- we didn’t-” He stuttered nervously over his words. 

“We talked and we smoked a little bit.” Freddie said gently as Jim picked up his mug. “If you’re worried about it, then no, we didn’t have sex. There was no way in hell that you could’ve given consent like that. I shouldn’t have even let you smoke, really.” He sipped his tea. “How’s your head?” He repeated his earlier question.

“Alright, actually.” He conceded. “Did you try some magic technique on me?”

“I had you drink like three pints of water before you went to bed.” Freddie smiled. “I thought it would be good for you to stay the night instead of suffering on your own.”

“Thanks for looking after me.” Jim said with a shy smile. 

“Oh, don’t thank me, I’m a terrible influence. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been out last night at all, and I managed to get you drunk and high in the space of one night.” Freddie said with a chuckle. He could remember everything that had happened, all the secret kisses they’d shared together, but he didn’t want to force Jim to remember anything if he purposefully ignored it. “Did you have fun, though?”

“I really did.” Jim smiled. “Maybe I’ll try and pick up someone next time. Everyone was talking to me about you, they seem to think it’s an honour to be with someone like you.”

“It’s the first time in a long time that I haven’t picked someone up.” Freddie chuckled. “Well, I mean, that’s a lie. I got fucked twice last night.” He grinned smugly. “But I didn’t go home with anyone like I usually would.”

“Did I hold you back?” Jim asked quietly. 

“Oh, no, darling.” Freddie shook his head. “It’s nice to have a morning at home, actually. Usually, I leave before dawn.”

Jim smiled. “It’s nice of you to let me stay with you.”

“I like your company. You’re very relaxing.” Freddie chuckled. “Listen, we- we need to talk about last night, really. I don’t know how much you remember.”

Jim frowned. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s all okay.” Freddie said quickly. “I just need to know what page you’re on. Last night, we-” He couldn’t believe that he was blushing; he never blushed, especially not regarding relationships and sex. “We kissed, and we kissed a lot, and I know that you’ve told me you’re not gay. Either way, I don’t care, I don’t-” He smiled despite himself. “I really don’t mind being a trial, it’s not the first time. But if you’re certain you’re not gay, you need to knock that on the head.”

“I kissed you?” Jim asked quietly. “Shit, I remember. In Heaven.” His cheeks turned a furious pink. “God, I don’t- I don’t know. I’m not even sure what I want.”

“Bi-curious?” Freddie said with a smile. “You know that’s alright, don’t you? You don’t have to keep up that straight guy façade if it’s not you.”

“I don’t know.” Jim sat on the dining table and bit his lip. “It’s always been wrong. It’s always been a sin, and I just- I don’t know whether I can be comfortable with that.”

Freddie stood up and walked over to him, standing in front of him. “Want to find out?” He asked with a little smile on his face.

“Sure you don’t mind being a trial?” Jim asked quietly, but the smile on Freddie’s face was addictive. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You can’t hurt me just by kissing me.” Freddie chuckled. “The whole world isn’t going to fall down, and I get to practice. It’s a win-win.”

Jim leaned in and kissed him lightly; the guilt in the pool of his stomach slowly faded when he felt Freddie’s smile against his.


	6. Internally Flawless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freddie's not in the mood that morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot?

“There’s a letter for you.” Roger threw at it him from across the room, though it fell a good few metres from the sofa where Freddie was nursing his third hangover of the week. “From Kasim, I assume.”

“Oh, burn it.” Freddie said contemptuously and pulled the blanket up over his head. “He’ll only send me another one next week anyway.”

“They’re always amusing to read.” Roger picked it up and opened it with a kitchen knife. “You’re his pretty little virgin, after all. He thinks you’re at home and washing your hands before you say your bedtime prayers.” He teased fondly.

Freddie stood up and snatched the paper from his hands quickly. “You’re absolutely not fucking reading it.” He smoothed it out and set it down on the coffee table. “I’ll reply to it eventually. I don’t know whether replying makes it better or worse, in all honesty.”

“He’s your fiancé, Freddie. You can hardly just pretend he doesn’t exist.” Roger rolled his eyes. 

“Let’s not get into this conversation again.” Freddie cut him off and wandered into the kitchen. “Where’s the fucking ibuprofen? My head kills.”

“Second drawer on the left.” He called back; as much as they joked about Freddie’s relationship, it made him feel uneasy inside. “Are you going to your parents for lunch?”

“Unfortunately.” Freddie swallowed two quickly. “I’m in a fucking foul mood, too, and I can’t even get high because I haven’t got any weed. I’ve got blow, but I’m not in the mood.” He placed the glass by the sink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I just can’t be bothered to lie to them all the time. They’ll probably have Kasim on the phone, too.” He rubbed his head. “I thought I was done with that shit when I moved out.”

Roger hugged him from the side and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “If you want, I’ll pretend you’ve flu and call them for you.” He offered. 

Freddie suddenly seemed to light up. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course.” Roger smiled. “I know those calls always get you really down.”

“They’re just weirdly sexual in front of my parents.” He grabbed a match and lit his cigarette quickly. “It’s all weirdly sexual. And, like- I’m not a fucking prude, Rog, people don’t make me uncomfortable when they talk about sex, but he talks about me like I’m some kind of kid and I’m not into that shit.” He blew out the match and took a drag on his cigarette. 

“You are in comparison to him.” Roger pointed out. “There’s how many years between you?”

“Fifteen.” Freddie muttered disgustedly. “I guess the whole virgin thing doesn’t help. I’m going to have to come clean about all that eventually.” He shook his head. “The concept of telling my father that I’ve been fucked by a series of men doesn’t exactly fill me with joy.”

“You’ll have to break it off with him.” Roger took a cigarette from the packet on the side. “You can’t live like this.”

“I don’t understand why I can’t just date like normal people.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “Kiss some guys, get fucked by some guys, and choose the one that makes my heart warm. But no, it’s all about what’ll increase the status of our family in a country we don’t even fucking live in.”

“Why don’t you go down to the cafe for a bit and see Jim?” Roger offered, trying to lighten the mood. “You can grab the coffees before our shift later. He seems to have been putting a smile on your face lately.”

“Oh, I don’t know what the fuck is going on there, either.” Freddie rolled his eyes. “I thought guys were supposed to be simpler than girls? Like, I shagged Mary and then we were together and then we were supposed to get married, and it was all that simple. Boys just fuck you about.”

“Why, what happened with him?” He asked, a little more gently. “Did you fuck?”

“Absolutely not.” The idea brought half a smile to Freddie’s face. “No, we made out for like three hours and then I fell asleep. When we woke up he didn’t even remember it, and then we sat in the kitchen and made out more, and now he hasn’t even called me and it’s been three days.”

“Go and see him.” Roger insisted. “He’s sixteen, Fred, and he wouldn’t harm a fly. He’s probably fucking intimidated by you.”

“If I fuck a sixteen-year-old, I’m going to get sent to fucking prison.” Freddie narrowed his eyes. “I’m under the age of consent too, but at least I’m a legal adult. He’s five years under the age of consent, and that’s cutting it too fine for me.”

“Don’t fuck him, then.” Roger said, as though it were the most simple conclusion in the world. “No one says you have to be sexual. He might not be ready for that shit.”

“A choice between celibacy and being someone’s illicit houseboy.” Freddie blew smoke at the roof. “Isn’t my life just a series of the most wonderful decisions? Prison, or prison. What a variety.” He said sarcastically. 

“You really are in a foul mood.” Roger muttered and flicked ash into the sink. “Well, whatever, you do what you want. Just-” He squeezed Freddie’s shoulder gently. “Don’t try and be someone you’re not, alright?”

“What do you mean by that?” Freddie frowned. “I’m not pretending.”

“Your whole life is pretend, Freddie.” Roger said quietly. “Maybe if you took down half those façades, then people wouldn’t find you so intimidating.”

“What if I want to be intimidating?” Freddie sounded defensive. “Look where being vulnerable got me.” He gestured to the ring on his finger; he only ever wore it when he was planning to see his parents.

* * *

“What do you order?” Freddie asked as soon as he got to the counter, forgoing any greeting. “Will you have coffee with me? I’ll pay.”

“I’m working, Freddie.” Jim said fondly. “I’ll come over and talk while I clean tables.”

“No, I want to sit with you properly.” Freddie frowned, and Jim could see he wasn’t feeling himself that morning. “Ten minutes, that’s all.”

“I’ll see if I can take my break.” Jim relented, and Freddie started to smile when he came out without his apron. “I’ve got fifteen minutes.”

“Coffee or a walk?” Freddie offered, shoving his hands into his pockets when he realised his instinctive reaction was to take Jim’s hand. 

“A walk sounds good. It’s awfully stuffy in here.” Jim walked over to him and held the cafe door open for him.

“How’s your morning been?” Freddie started, picking at his fingers idly as they wandered along together. “Busy?”

“Very.” Jim chuckled. “I had almost the entirety of Cirque du Soleil in this morning. They’re doing a string of London shows, and apparently they take over a new coffee shop every morning.” His laugh was music to Freddie and he found himself relaxing instinctively. “What’s the occasion for sobriety?” He asked playfully.

“I don’t have any money until next Wednesday.” Freddie smiled, though it was a little dry around the edges. That was nine days without cigarettes, scrounging the money for food with Roger, without anything to take the edge off. “Unless I get this modelling gig tomorrow.”

“You model?” Jim asked curiously, glancing over Freddie’s form as though gauging him for a show.

“A little.” Freddie shrugged. “I was fucking broke when I first moved out, so I started doing these life drawing classes because you just have to sit still for like an hour and I didn’t mind being naked. Someone saw the drawings, and I did a niche little magazine cover nude, and now I do a bit of runway stuff here and there.”

“Runway?” Jim sounded entirely aghast. “Like, proper modelling? Catwalks and the like?”

“Dolce and Gabbana.” Freddie said with a straight face, and then he burst out laughing. His mood was already lifting. “I’m fucking with you. No, I haven’t got the face for that kind of brand. I’m a fag with ridiculous teeth, they wouldn’t sign me in a hundred years. I do some stuff for independent designers at some of their bigger gigs.”

“I like your teeth.” Jim sounded a little wounded, even more so when Freddie laughed again. “No, I do! I’m not just saying it.”

“If I had a pound for every time someone told me they gave me character, I’d be a multi-millionaire.” He told Jim and chuckled. “They like pristine features. I couldn’t give a fuck, I’d never be a model full time. I couldn’t starve myself for a living.”

Jim nodded and raked his eyes over Freddie again, undeniably curious. He caught a glimpse of sparkles on Freddie’s hand, another of his costume rings, and smiled. “I like your ring.” He said sweetly.

“Thanks, it was forty-five grand.” Freddie replied, voice suddenly turning dull and monotonous. He slipped it off and stuffed it in his pocket; he never wore it out, only occasionally through accident. “I hate it.”

“But it’s gorgeous!” Jim insisted. “Is it by one of the companies you work with?”

“Christ, no. They know better than to leave me in charge of expensive things.” He smiled reluctantly. “Roger and I can’t even handle a second-hand clothing stall. He sold my jacket to one of the customers.”

Jim laughed sweetly and glanced up at him. “How did you get it, then?”

“Someone bought it for me.” Freddie replied cryptically. “More money than taste, I think. No one needs that many diamonds in a tiny piece of jewellery.” He realised where they were when he glanced up, and suddenly he broke into a smile. “Come on, I want to show you something.”


	7. Evening Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't how he'd anticipated spending his evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I haven't forgotten about this!

“What do you think?” Freddie came out of the bathroom and twirled for Jim. He was wearing a long blazer that brushed the tops of his thighs, buttoned over the top of his boxers, and a pair of black platforms. “You know, when they told me I’d be modelling a suit, I didn’t exactly think I’d be this undressed.”

“Holy shit.” Jim swallowed quickly. “Freddie, you look-”

“Incredible?” He preened, fluttering his eyelashes. “Sexy?”

“Amazing.” He breathed out. “But you need to shave your legs.”

“Way to bring the tone down.” He huffed and crossed his arms. “I know. I need to shave everything, you can’t look like this on a runway.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Thankfully they’ve got stylists this time, because I’m hopeless with my hair.”

“How much are they paying you for it?” Jim asked and smiled. “I can see why they chose you. You’ve got the legs for it.” He nodded appreciatively.

“That’s more like it.” He winked at Jim. “Thank you, darling. It’s just under three hundred for the night, it’s the best gig I’ve had yet. You can come and see, if you want to.”

“Why don’t you wear the ring?” Jim asked innocently. “It might look nice.”

“Oh, absolutely not!” Freddie shook his head. “Listen, darling, you must forget you’ve ever seen it. People don’t know about it, and they can’t know about it, and they shouldn’t know about it.”

“Why?” Jim asked inquisitively; Freddie couldn’t help his reluctant little smile.

“God, you’re not going to let it go, are you?” He shook his head. “It’s my engagement ring. This is very private, darling, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell people.”

“Engagement ring?” He gasped. “But you kissed me! And you messed around with those guys in the club, Freddie, what the hell?”

He sat down on the bed opposite Jim and sighed. “I got engaged just before my fourteenth birthday when I lived in India. I had come out to my parents a few months before.” He shrugged. “You probably don’t want the story.”

“No, I do!” He crawled across the bed quickly and mustered all his courage to kiss him lightly on the lips. He wasn’t quite sure how to untangle the feelings he felt for Freddie, but he knew that he loved to kiss him.

The kiss put a little smile on Freddie’s lips. “He’s fifteen years older than me. My father basically sold me for the sake of his status; I’m not angry about it, because it’s what most fathers do with their daughters, but it all makes me feel a bit ill.” He explained. “I was a new and exciting business enterprise. Because it’s illegal to be gay in India, it was all arranged under the table. He was going to marry a woman and take me on as a houseboy, and in exchange my father would get a position in central government where he could lobby for it to be legalised. In public, I’d be his servant, and at home my position would change with his wife and she’d be the servant and I’d be the- well, the sex slave, I guess.”

“Christ.” Jim hugged him tightly. 

“I was supposed to be his husband eventually. She’d have his children and I’d raise them, and I’d live in comfort for the rest of my days.” He grabbed his water bottle from the side and sipped it. “But, like- that was going to be the rest of my life, and it’s all I knew from the age of thirteen. Moving to London, it was like getting my life back. I could drink, I could smoke, I didn’t have to be this little innocent virgin houseboy that was being lusted after back home. My first time with a man was liberating because it wasn’t with him.”

“Is that why you kind of- rebel, I guess?” Jim spoke softly.

“It’s a choice I never thought I had.” He started to smile again. “But now, unless he turns up at my door and drags me back to India, I’m free. He’s sent me plane tickets a few times, but I’ve never used them.” His grin turned cheeky. “And now I’m so disgustingly ruined that he couldn’t possibly want me, because everyone’s fucked me, and I wouldn’t be special for him.”

“I like that idea. It’s- it’s liberating. You can liberate yourself through sex.” Jim replied.

“I have sex because I like sex, and I drink because I like drinking, and I smoke because I like smoking. There isn’t a man that deserves me if he can’t accept that I’ve had sex before him. I’m not some pretty little ornament to strap to a bed, you know?” He grinned. “I may be the passive partner, but I’m not passive in the slightest.”

Jim’s cheeks flushed; he had never met someone who spoke so openly about sex. “I’ve- I’ve never had sex.” He admitted. “I hadn’t kissed anyone before you.”

“Well, you learn from my mistakes and you do it properly. You fall in love with a man and you have sex when the time is right, darling.” Freddie spoke as though Jim were some child he was teaching. 

“Why don’t you have boyfriends?” Jim asked as Freddie stood up; his incessant curiosity had been piqued with Freddie. Freddie, to him, was the emblem of London itself, and he wanted to understand everything.

“I’ve had a couple.” Freddie shrugged. “I don’t do monogamy unless I’m mad about whoever it is. I don’t like being owned, because I don’t like to let people control me.”

Jim lay down on his stomach and propped his chin on the palm of his hand. “How do you know if you’re mad about somebody?”

“You can’t stop thinking about them. You spend every second thinking about them and their face and how it feels when they kiss you, and you feel all warm inside when you remember the little nicknames they call you.” Jim could see a smile blossom across his face again. “Everybody has little things that they do without realising, their little idiosyncrasies. I had one boy that was mad about playing with my hair, and I had another boyfriend who liked to trace a little heart on my skin when he kissed me, and you think about those little things that they do all the time.”

Jim smiled; he liked Freddie at his happiest, and he wanted to see more of his smile. “What’s the best experience you ever had?”

“I had a boyfriend that used to play violin and he used to let me go to his practices. I used to sit and draw while I listened to him playing these beautiful quartet pieces, and he’d always kiss me on the tube home.” Freddie sighed wistfully. “He was American, and he moved back home when he finished his degree, and so he had to break it off with me. I was heartbroken.”

“Do you like that kind of music?” Jim questioned as Freddie looked through his closet for a pair of jeans. 

“Oh, I just adore it.” Freddie smiled. “I play piano, obviously, but not anything classical. Sometimes I go and draw at the back of orchestra rehearsals just so I can listen.” He shrugged.

“You don’t strike me as that kind of man.” Jim admitted.

“I’m nothing if not multifaceted.” Freddie pulled on a t-shirt and jeans quickly and glanced over at Jim. “Are you going to come to this show?”

“Absolutely!” He said excitedly; he jumped up to stand next to him and then faltered. “Can I hold your hand?”

Freddie chuckled. “If you want to.” He held out a hand for Jim, and Jim smiled as his calloused, cold hand met Freddie’s warm fingers; Freddie squeezed them playfully. “I really need this gig to be over so I can buy myself some cigarettes.”

“I can buy you some.” Jim said immediately. 

“Darling, I don’t expect you to do that.” He insisted as they walked downstairs. 

“It costs what? One pound fifty?” He rolled his eyes. “Let me treat you. You bought me coffee yesterday.”

“You’re too nice.” Freddie rolled his eyes, mocking Jim, but allowed him to all the same.

* * *

Jim wasn’t an artist, and he would never be an artist, but he had an appreciation for colour; he had an appreciation for the warm, orange light cast across the stage, reminiscent of the evening sunshine on an autumn’s evening. It brought a tenderness to Jim’s heart, made him think of the best memories of the evening; a faint memory, hazy and lazy, of Freddie’s gentle lips against his own.

_ “Freddie-” Jim gasped and laughed as Freddie kissed his jawline.  _

_ “I’m just enjoying myself.” Freddie pulled back and kissed his lips again. “Your lips are awfully soft, you know.” He sat back on his heels and smiled when Jim whined. _

_ “I didn’t say for you to stop.” He laughed breathlessly as Freddie’s lips found his again and wrapped his arms back around his neck. _

The music was loud, and the flash of the cameras was bright in the corner of his eye; he watched for Freddie intently, anticipation drumming through to his fingers from his heart. Many of the faces were of the same caliber, refined and chiselled, muscles hard and straining under carefully placed t-shirts, brows fixed in a well-practiced face of cool calm-

And then Freddie came out, playfully sexy under the bright lights, never once flinching as he flaunted long, bare legs for the camera, blazer fixed neatly around his middle as he turned for every camera, caught eyes with every photographer and smiled, pouted. He was so unashamedly confident under those lights, the same confidence as when he first came over and introduced himself, bright and shining and holding the light for as long as he humanly could.

He caught Jim’s eye, winked playfully, and they both laughed when the photo landed in the Standard the next evening.


	8. Coffee-Stained Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's grounding, it's reassuring and it feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lecture today on communicative identity and the impact of sympathetic union and touch on relationships today and you can honestly see it in the end of this chapter and I'm not even mad!

“What the hell do you mean by this?” Bomi threw the newspaper down in front of him, scowling back at the big, innocent baby eyes that Freddie gave him. “You’re practically fucking naked!”

“I was wearing a jacket, actually. I was modelling the new suit collection.” Freddie took a contemptuous drag on his cigarette. “We both agreed a little sex appeal might spice things up.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think you were doing.” He rapped him over the back of the hand with a wooden spoon, the closest thing at hand. “You’re engaged, you don’t go showing yourself off like that.”

“Oh, please-” Freddie started. “I’m not going to be engaged much longer.”

Bomi looked at the cigarette poised gracefully between defiant fingers and resisted the urge to smack it out of his hand, even if it only was because Jer would kill him for burning a hole in the shagpile rug. “You’ll be engaged until you finally go back over there and marry him, and I’ll take you myself.” He replied. “Enough of your fantasies.”

“He won’t want me anymore.” Freddie continued insistently. “England’s corrupted me. I fell in love with a man and had sex, I’ve broken the agreement.”

“What the fuck?” Bomi turned around, face tainted red with rage. “Farrokh, if this is some kind of joke-”

“It’s Freddie!” He shouted and stood up; he was sick of having to pander to every one of his father’s fantasies. “It’s Freddie, and I’m not fucking getting married! I’m not leaving England, and I’m not staying celibate, I’m going to grow up and train to be a singer or an artist or whatever the fuck I want to be, and I’m going to find someone I love and marry them!”

“Sit down.” Bomi said quietly. “And think about the tone you use to speak to me.”

Freddie’s cheeks were flushed with exertion and humiliation, but he stayed standing. “I’m an adult.” He replied. “I have friends here, and I have some kind of a job going-”

“Selling jackets at a second-hand clothing stall? Prancing around on stage in your underwear? It’s not a fucking career.” He spat back.

“I don’t care!” He shouted defiantly. “People like me, and they want to take photos of me, and I’ll fucking show you that I can get somewhere with it!”

“I’m offering you a life where you don’t have to lift a finger. Nannies for the children, stylists, all the clothes you want, maids and butlers and dinner parties, and you want to throw it away for a stall in Kensington Market and some boy you won’t remember the name of in a week.” He rolled his eyes. “You really do astound me, Farrokh.”

“You’re offering me a life where I never get to love anyone.” He flicked the ash of his cigarette onto the tablecloth and stared at his father. 

“You get a husband, what more do you want?” He asked exasperatedly.

“Who’s fifteen years older than me and doesn’t care about anything except my cock!” He insisted. “That’s what this is, really. You refuse to look at it, but you’re selling me for the sake of my body. You’re whoring me out for your own benefit.”

“Freddie, please-” Jer put her hand on his shoulder. “Your father is trying to do what’s best for you, and for all of us. He’s going to massively improve your quality of life from living on the breadline in London to living in comfort in Hyderabad.”

“Mama-” Freddie rubbed his hands over his face. “You wouldn’t let him do this to Kash, but to me it’s fine?”

“She’s seventeen, Freddie.” She replied firmly.

“I was thirteen!” He shook her hand off of him. “I was thirteen, and he was twenty-eight, and you didn’t think what he’d want with a fucking child?”

She frowned. “Why don’t you go over and spend a week with him, and just see how it is? You might enjoy it more than you think you will.”

“Because if I go over, I’m going to get swept up in some marriage ceremony nobody told me about, and you’ll both win.” He replied bluntly. “And I’m not fucking going. I don’t know how to say it bluntly, so just tell him that I’ve been fucked by half the men in London and I won’t be right for him anyway.” He stubbed his cigarette out on the table and ground it into the carpet with the heel of his boot. “It’s better to tell him sooner.”

* * *

It wasn’t often that smoking didn’t make him feel better, especially if he made something a little stronger, but the persistent low mood followed him through the day: he was well into his third blunt by the time he made his mind up to go down to the cafe, even if it was just to watch the world go by.

He sat out on a little outside table, trying his best to enjoy the sunshine as he set to work on a new project, mind a little hazy from the strength of the weed he’d bought; he reminded himself to go back to the same dealer next time. He settled on trying to draw Jim - he wondered if he was getting a little obsessive, seeing as half of his sketchbook was filled with little inky snapshots of their time together - and had just finished a rough outline when the boy himself appeared in front of him.

“I haven’t seen you around here in a while.” He beamed, wiping his hands off on his apron. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jim’s smile was enough to force a reluctant one onto Freddie’s face. ‘This is my new haunt for shitty days.” He replied. “And the sun was shining, so I thought fuck it, you know? I still don’t know what days you work, but I figured I might see you.”

“You time your visits awfully well for someone who doesn’t know my timetable.” Jim leaned over to clean his table as an excuse for dawdling. “Why is today shitty?”

“I thought I’d gotten rid of my parents when I moved out with Roger.” Freddie blew smoke at the sun. “Apparently not.”

“What happened?” He asked sympathetically, giving his cheek a surreptitious kiss as he walked by.

“Pressuring me to go to India again. I told them I’m not a virgin anymore, but I don’t think they believe me. They think I’m just joking to spite them.” He paused to redraw the arch of Jim’s eyebrow when he realised it didn’t curve right. “Joke’s on them, I guess. How’s your day?”

“Some thirty-year-old guy tried to get my number in front of my boss.” Jim cringed a little. “Kept calling me  _ cutie _ . It made my skin crawl.”

“I would’ve smacked the fucker.” Freddie mused. “Wish I’d been there to do it.”

“I ended up giving him a fake one because he wouldn’t leave me alone, and then I got a bollocking.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m just like, I don’t have all the answers, you know? I’m sixteen and London’s fucking weird.” He chuckled. “Customers either glare at you or hit on you, there’s no in-between. In Ireland, you just went and ordered a coffee with a please and thank you.”

“You know, for the number of people that hit on you, I’m quite proud that I’m the one that got to kiss you.” Freddie grinned and sipped his coffee. “Do you think I’d make a good stripper?”

Jim choked a little and looked over at him quickly. “What the fuck, Freddie?”

“I’m just thinking of what's the wildest thing I could do to convince my parents I’m not an angel.” He found himself relaxing instinctively around Jim - he stopped censoring himself, knowing that he expected the unexpected. “Plus, I’m doing an art degree. I’m never going to get a job.”

“You could be an artist!” Jim looked over his shoulder and paused. “I mean, I think you’d be a wonderful stripper, but I wouldn’t do it purely out of spite.”

“I knew there was a reason I had you as a friend.” Freddie chuckled. “You can reinforce all of my terrible decisions. You’re my wingman, but in the worst way.”

“Thank you?” Jim laughed and looked over his shoulder at his sketch. “Is that me?”

“Guilty.” Freddie tapped his cigarette against the ashtray on his table. “Half this sketchbook is you, darling.”

Jim’s heart soared in a way that he was very unused to: it was the soaring of a feeling requited, knowing that he was silly and giddy and definitely in love though he would never, ever admit it to Freddie’s face, and knowing that maybe Freddie felt the same way. “Can I see?” He asked excitedly.

Freddie handed him the sketchbook, only little, barely bigger than his hand, and he stood mesmerised as he turned the pages. There were memories on every page, memories incarnate in paper and pen and pencil, things that Freddie had captured within a second and stored away for later to draw: Jim laughing amongst silk sheets, messy from alcohol and weed and love and late nights; Jim leaning on his palms on the counter of the coffee shop, looking a little too smitten for his liking; Jim with a background of roses as he watched Freddie intently, listening to every little miserable word that came from his mouth on a bad day. It was how Jim had imagined a partner obsessed with photography, or what he’d imagined being himself, taking photos of ice-cream stained mouths and sleepy laughter and risque positioning of covers after a satisfying night, except this felt more personal somehow: photography was fast, a hundred photos taken in the space of a few seconds to capture something perfectly. If he looked closely, he could see where Freddie had erased and redrawn lines, working for hours to replicate one thing faithfully, some much time and effort and devotion in the soft indents in the paper.

“This is beautiful.” He murmured, though he felt as though the words didn’t do his emotions justice. “Freddie, this is-”

“Obsessive?” Freddie filled in with a grin. “Pseudo-stalkerish? Almost enough for a restraining order?”

“Fucking gorgeous, you idiot.” Jim felt so overcome with his emotions, experiencing each so strongly that he felt that his heart could beat out of his chest or explode from sheer intensity: no one had ever loved him before, not like this. “God, Freddie, I- can I kiss you?”

Freddie’s cheeks turned pink with delight: he hadn’t expected such a positive reaction. “Whenever you want.” He replied, his voice softer than intended. His experience of love was physical, hands worshipping his body, and he had never begrudged that in the slightest, but now, here, he felt as though something was changing. This, he considered, this might be how love felt deep in his chest.

Jim cupped his cheeks, forgetting all the silly notions of work and his duties and the customers queueing by the front counter: the only thing that mattered to him was their point of union, the meeting of two bodies, two hearts, two souls behind the gentle touch of their lips. It was open, receptive, risky, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to care, not when Freddie’s lips were soft and his hands were warm and Jim felt as though he were coming home.

**Author's Note:**

> Another one! This is a complete heart attack in comparison to the Fluorescent/Incandescent au (but that is sadly drawing to a close!), as the age gap and naivety have completely swapped. I hope this is everything light-hearted that you've ever dreamed of when I've given you a heavy angst chapter to deal with!
> 
> As always, kudos and comments make me infinitely grateful and happy and I wake up every morning hoping to read what you think! :D


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